


The Next Step

by Sed



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M, Police Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a couple of years in the real world, Tron has decided to become a cop. It's Sam's task to plan and set up for his academy graduation party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Next Step

**Author's Note:**

> There's a smaller side story taking place during this fic. I may not write it, but either way it doesn't impact the plot of this one.

It was a small gathering; a few friends and family, and no one who didn’t know Tron well enough to ignore that he looked like Alan’s younger twin, while claiming to be his son. Sam had decorated, tossing streamers over the railing on the back porch and taping balloons to every surface that wouldn’t be used for sitting. He even had a banner printed just for the occasion, although they had screwed up the spelling and printed _Ron_ instead of _Tron._ The hasty correction Sam made with a black marker didn’t look very convincing, but it was good enough, and Tron wouldn’t complain anyway.  
  
Quorra’s job had been to secure snacks and a cake. After she returned the first time with a box of Wheat Thins and a package of blueberry muffin mix, Sam had instead sent his father, who took Quorra back out with him. Sam could only be grateful that he didn’t have to go along; sitting in the back seat like a kid was bad enough, but sitting there while his father and a woman who appeared to be Sam’s age or younger held hands and flirted with each other was probably the worst thing he’d ever experienced. After the first time he found any excuse he could _not_ to be trapped in a small space with them ever again. It wasn’t that their relationship bothered him, he was happy for his father and Quorra, really. It was just… awkward. Sam wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. His father, having let go of most attachments during his exile on the Grid, decided it would be wrong to tie Quorra down in an actual relationship. So instead they just had a lot of sex and made Sam feel very uncomfortable.  
  
With that unsettling thought rolling around in his mind, Sam checked his watch; it was already ten. The ceremony was scheduled for noon, and even in the best traffic it would still take forty-five minutes to reach the park. He went over a quick checklist in his head: Alan was already with Tron; Roy was picking Lora up from the airport, and they would drive straight to the park assuming Lora didn’t want to drop her luggage off at the hotel first; Ed was on his way to meet Sam, with a possible detour to grab Ernie if Sam’s threats held any sway. If the others didn’t take too long at the grocery store, everyone would arrive at the park on time.  
  
The doorbell rang twice, and Sam tossed the roll of tape he’d been fussing with onto the table. “One sec,” he called out. The bell rang again, followed by impatient knocking. “I said hold on!”  
  
“ _I called you three times, learn to answer your phone_.” It was Ed, and Sam knew he’d called, he just ignored it.  
  
“I didn’t want to listen to you whine,” Sam said as he opened the door. “Don’t knock like that, it’s annoying as hell. Where’s Ernie?”  
  
“He’s grabbing the stuff out of the back.” Ed was absorbed in his new phone, pecking away at the screen like a bespectacled, fuzzy bird. He was wearing a short sleeved dress shirt, black suspenders, and a pair of pants that looked about a size and a half too small. It was probably designer, intended to be ironic in some obscure way, and didn’t come close to matching the yellow and green argyle socks sticking out between his pant legs and black shoes.  
  
Sam shut his eyes and sighed. “He’s not your valet, Ed.”  
  
“Yeah, well, might as well be. Where’s your dad?”  
  
“At the store.” Sam looked over Ed’s shoulder to where Ernie was struggling up the driveway. He had a bag in one hand and a large box in the other. The latter was blocking his face, and he was five or six feet from colliding with the front step. “Whoa, watch out,” Sam said. He pushed past Ed, who let himself be moved as he continued tapping on his phone.  
  
Ernie stopped just shy of the steps. “It’s the stairs, right?”  
  
“Yeah. Let me take one of those.” Sam reached out for the box. It was light, but still cumbersome. “Ed, get the door.”  
  
A quiet _tsk_ was his only reply, but Ed reached out and pulled the door open as he continued texting with one hand. Sam and Ernie shuffled inside, and Ed followed a minute later, still on his phone.  
  
Once they were inside Sam set the box on the coffee table. “Just put the bag here,” he said. “What’s up, man? Like your suit.”  
  
Ernie looked down at himself as though he had forgotten he was dressed up. He had on a black suit with a blue tie, and a handkerchief in his breast pocket that looked as though it had belonged to Ed at one point. “Thanks,” he said.  
  
“Where’d you get that?” Sam asked, pointing at Ernie’s pocket.  
  
Ed spoke up before Ernie could answer. “I gave it to him. I was going to wear it, but I already felt kind of overdressed. When are we leaving?”  
  
“Soon,” Sam replied. He headed back out to the porch and continued wrestling with the roll of tape. “We should probably be out of here by eleven. Have to meet Alan a few minutes before it starts.”  
  
“Bradley?”  
  
“Yeah, Ed, he’ll be there. Don’t fight with him.” Sam was used to the occasional snide remarks from Ed regarding Alan, but he had yet to experience being in the same place with both of them—at least not outside of the Encom offices. Ed usually went out of his way to avoid the older executive who had once been an object of ridicule within the company, and who was now his boss. It obviously galled Ed, but he handled it well enough. Sam worried that it would cause a problem at the party, though. He didn’t want anything ruining the day for Tron, who had worked damn hard since they pulled him from the system. Overcoming the repurposing that was used to turn him into Rinzler had been difficult, but adapting to the real world was what truly tested his limits. Everyone had assumed it would be like Quorra, who adapted at a speed that seemed unrealistic, even somewhat disconcerting. It had taken Tron significantly longer. Long nights talking with Alan and his father had opened Sam’s eyes to the wide gulf between Basic and Iso, which he hadn’t ever truly appreciated before then. On the plus side, Tron’s seclusion for the better part of a year had given Sam and Ed ample time to create his legal identity; something they had scrambled to do for Quorra once it became apparent that she wouldn’t sit around and wait for them to tie up all the loose ends related to her sudden existence. Tron had happily adopted the surname Bradley, which made Alan proud in a way that Sam had to admit was pretty heartwarming. For the first time he was almost grateful Alan and Lora had separated so many years ago; it made introducing Alan’s “son” to his coworkers and friends that much easier, at least.  
  
Only a handful of people knew the truth, and Sam was fine with that. After bringing Ed in during the effort to move the laser out of the arcade basement and into a more stable, reliable operating environment, they got to work on the _real_ project. It actually hadn’t taken them very long to piece together the parts of Sam’s father that had been scattered throughout the system. When he first escaped with Quorra it seemed like an impossible goal to reach; having someone at his side who seemed to read code in his sleep made things much easier. As annoying as he could be, Sam owed Ed a lot more than he could ever repay.  
  
Ernie’s involvement was more of an accident, but Sam was grateful for his friendship—and his ability to keep monumental secrets—nevertheless. It really never occurred to Sam that there would be security cameras operating in locked off portions of the R &D department. Luckily for him and everyone involved, he had already formed something of a friendly working relationship with the man, promoting him almost as soon as the board takeover and reshuffling of the company had been completed. He told Ernie it was because he showed so much loyalty and dedication; really it was because Sam had never met a security guard who was willing to climb out onto a tower crane just to catch an intruder. Of course, having the company’s security chief on his side made a lot of their more questionable practices that much easier to hide. In the end everything had really worked out rather smoothly, leaving Sam wondering when exactly the other shoe was going to drop.  
  
“I have no intention of fighting with Alan Bradley,” Ed muttered. He snapped a photo of some decorations and went back to fiddling with the phone.  
  
Sam nodded. “Good, because today is about Tron. He’s been working really hard.”  
  
“Aw,” Ed mocked. “Look at you, so proud.”  
  
“Shut up. I am though, actually.”  
  
“Need me to do anything?” Ernie asked.  
  
Sam looked around the porch before shaking his head. “I’m pretty much done out here. Grab a beer or something if you want, unless you feel like grabbing the plates for Dad and Q. They should be back soon.”  
  
“She’s just going to come back with crackers,” Ed said. He was re-tying some of the decorations. Sam didn’t bother stopping him.  
  
“Already did. Dad went back out with her to get actual food.”  
  
Ernie came back from the kitchen carrying a beer and an apple, with the serving plates tucked under one arm. “What is it with her and crackers?”  
  
Sam shrugged and reached for the plates. “No idea. I tried teaching her how to cook, but Dad said to let her do whatever made her comfortable, so.”  
  
They set up the serving plates at the main table, finishing just as Ed concluded his sweep of the decorations. All in all, the porch looked pretty good. Sam took a moment to congratulate himself on a job well done, and then sat down to wait with the others.  
  
  
_____________  
  
  
  
“It was rude.”  
  
“I don’t think anyone really noticed, if it makes you feel any better.” Sam was leaning against Ed’s driver-side door with his arms crossed over his chest. Alan had dragged him away from the others after the graduation, where he proceeded to complain about the multitude of pictures Dillinger had snapped during the ceremony. “And even if they did, they probably thought he was taking pictures of the graduation.”  
  
Alan fixed Sam with a flat stare, which Sam took to mean he didn’t buy the excuse. “He had his phone aimed at everything _but_ that, Sam. I think that’s a little hard to mistake. Maybe you could say something to him,” he said.  
  
“You’re his boss, Alan.”  
  
“And you’re my boss. Don’t you think it might mean more coming from you?”  
  
Sam laughed and looked down at his feet. He dug at a patch of loose gravel with the toe of his shoe and shook his head. “I dunno, we go to titty bars together, it’s a different kind of relationship. Besides, he’s afraid of you.”  
  
That made Alan smile, but he quickly masked it with a much more appropriate frown and a disapproving grunt. “Don’t say things like that, you know I don’t like that kind of language.”  
  
“What? Come on, Alan, I’m all grown up, I think I can say _titties_ without getting lectured.”  
  
“I mean it.”  
  
“What’s wrong with ti—”  
  
“Sam, I’ll tell Lora.”  
  
That ended the game of How Far Can Alan Be Pushed. Sam had been playing it since he was at least eleven, with a brief hiatus during his early twenties, and Lora was almost always the trump card when all else failed—at least until she moved to the other side of the country. On more than one occasion Sam had found that Alan would still call her if pushed hard enough, though. He shrugged off the loss and rolled his eyes, before nodding over Alan’s shoulder to the approaching members of their unofficial social circle. Ed was trailing behind, looking up occasionally to make sure he was still heading in the right direction. “Now’s your chance,” Sam said.  
  
“I’m not saying anything to him now. But so help me, Sam, if he doesn’t put that phone down at the party—look at him, he’s still using it. How interesting can it be?”  
  
Sam pushed himself away from the door and waved to the others. “Wait until you finally ditch the pager for a smart phone,” he said. He turned to his father and asked, “Tron hasn’t come out yet?”  
  
“He’ll be here soon, I’m sure. He’s saying goodbye to some of his friends.”  
  
Sure enough, Tron appeared at the head of a pack of newly launched officers a moment later. He shook hands with one and patted another on the back, then turned and made a comment to yet another, before finally spotting the group and making his way over. Sam extracted himself from the huddle of friends and family and started across the grass to meet him.  
  
Tron’s navy blue uniform was perfectly tailored, which Sam had no doubt it actually had been; the former program took his choice to enter the police academy very seriously, and it showed. From the flawless shine of his shoes to the impeccably straight pleats in his pants, no one ever saw him in a uniform that was less than perfect. Sam often wondered if any of that drive was left over from his time as Clu’s enforcer. They talked about it sometimes, but Sam never pushed the topic beyond light conversation; it was enough that everyone had made it out alive and whole, they didn’t need to go over the grittier details. Sam had only ever pushed the border of decency when Tron first told him he was planning to enter the academy, and take up a career that had a higher chance of ending in death than working for Clu.  
  
Tron waved Sam over and smiled as they walked toward one another. “I see everyone made it,” he observed. When Sam had first told him about the party in his honor, he was almost appalled to hear that everyone would be coming just for his sake. It took a few days of back-and-forth arguing to make him understand what a momentous occasion it was. Tron just saw it as the next logical step, going from security of one type to another; Sam argued that he could have just as easily become a mall cop in that case, and the situation devolved from there, until Alan and his father were forced to step in and settle the whole thing. On the positive side of things, Tron understood from that day just how much Sam admired and respected him, which he had always seemed to doubt, possibly due to their less than pleasant first meeting. Sam didn’t understand why at first; he made no effort to hide his affection for the program. Sure, they hadn’t exactly been friends on the Grid, but he still felt like he’d known the _real_ Tron most of his life. Stories of disc battles and adventures on light cycles, fighting the MCP and fleeing from recognizers were all he heard as a kid. Sam considered Rinzler and Tron different people, and eventually Tron seemed to accept that.  
  
“Making it back is gonna be the hard part,” Sam replied. “Alan is about five seconds from strangling Ed. Arresting your fake dad for murder probably isn’t the best way to start your career, huh?”  
  
Tron made dismissive gesture and shrugged. “I might give him a pass on that one.”  
  
“You’re official for ten minutes and already corrupt. Clu would’ve been proud. I don’t think he’d come to your graduation, though.”  
  
They shared a laugh over that; even if other aspects of his service were somewhat untouchable, neither passed up a chance to crack a few jokes whenever possible. Sam assumed it was cathartic in a way, and all evidence seemed to support that. In fact, making light of the Grid’s former dictator was probably the first thing they had bonded over. “Clu couldn’t handle ten minutes out here,” Tron said. “He would have stopped at the street, trying to correct all the mistakes in the pavement.”  
  
“Pretty sure the dust in the arcade would do it.”  
  
They shared an awkward post-amusement chuckle, and then Sam started looking for something else to talk about. He suddenly found himself completely at a loss in Tron’s presence. That had never happened before, and it worried him more than a potential fistfight between Alan and Ed. He cleared his throat and looked around, then over the other man, noting the way Tron’s hat shaded his eyes and made them look darker than usual. “So…” he started.  
  
“We should probably get going, right?” Tron asked. He pointed to the others, who were gathered around their respective cars. All except for Alan, who was standing three feet from Ed, glaring intently. Ed was oblivious to the looming danger.  
  
“Mhm,” Sam replied. “Probably. Cake needs time to defrost a bit before we serve it, so the sooner we get home, the better.”  
  
“You got me an ice cream cake?” Tron asked.  
  
“Yeah, is that okay?”  
  
Apparently it was more than okay. “I love ice cream cake. That’s normal, right?”  
  
“Who cares about normal. Whatever makes you happy, man,” Sam said, doing his best to imitate his father. Tron smiled and put an arm around his shoulder, turning them both toward the cars. The sudden weight of his arm and the warmth of his touch made Sam’s stomach do a flip, and he almost stumbled at his own reaction. Tron didn’t seem to notice anything—that was a small miracle. He was sharp as a tack, and rarely let anything slide if it seemed even a little out of place. A silent war raged in Sam’s mind as they walked across the grass, and he couldn’t decide which side was making more sense; the side that said he was making something out of nothing, or the side screaming that he had just gotten excited over a friendly and totally normal gesture from a good friend.  
  
As it turned out, the tie was settled considerably lower, in his pants. Sam laughed nervously and pulled himself out from under Tron’s arm, dancing to the side like he had an actual reason to move away so quickly. The last thing he needed was a hard-on tenting his pants when he met up with the others. Ed would probably take a grainy, sepia-toned picture of it and post it to Facebook, complete with tags.  
  
“You okay?” Tron asked.  
  
“Yeah, fine. Just thinking of—of something. It’s not important. I’ll see you back at the house, alright?”  
  
“Okay,” Tron said. He looked unconvinced, and kept his eyes on Sam all the way to Alan’s car. Everyone crowded around to greet the proud graduate as he joined them; Sam broke off and met his friends near Ed’s car, watching for a moment and trying not to stare at the way Tron’s uniform pulled across his shoulders when he bent down to hug Lora.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
“Hm?” Ed questioned from the other side of the car. “Something wrong?”  
  
“No. Yes. It’s nothing. Get in.”  
  
“Right away, Mr. Flynn,” Ed sneered. He spared Sam a glance and then slipped into the front passenger seat. Ernie got in behind him; he seemed to have picked up on the sudden tension in the car.  
  
“What’s going on?” he asked.  
  
Ed nodded his head toward Sam. “Sammy is confused about his sexuality.”  
  
Sam almost slammed the car across the parking lot—in reverse. “What the _fuck,_ man!” he shouted. He looked around quickly to make sure all the windows were rolled up. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve never seen someone flirt poorly before,” Ed said sarcastically. “Was it the uniform, or have you always wanted to bone Bradley’s Mini-Me?”  
  
“Shut up!”  
  
“Wait,” Ernie said. He sat forward in the seat and held up both hands between the other two. “Slow down. Are we talking about Tron? Sam? Do you have a thing for Tron?”  
  
“Jesus, I can’t believe this is happening,” Sam groaned. He gripped the top of the steering wheel and dropped his forehead against the back of his wrists.  
  
“That’s weird.” Ernie muttered, sitting back slowly. “Yeah, that’s weird,” he repeated. “He’s like a younger Mr. Bradley. He’s like…”  
  
“Seriously, shut up,” Sam warned.  
  
“It’s just weird.”  
  
“I’m just gonna to drive us into a fucking tree.” Sam turned and glared first at Ernie, then at Ed. “Don’t you say a _word_ at the party—or after the party—do you hear me?”  
  
Ed shrugged. “We’ll keep your little secret, won’t we, Ern?”  
  
“Yeah.” Ernie mimicked Ed’s shrug. “It’s just—”  
  
“Don’t say it’s weird again!” Sam shouted.  
  
It certainly wasn’t the most elegant life-altering realization he’d ever come to. As he backed up, Sam caught sight of the group in his side-view mirror. Tron was looking right at him. The sight of steel-grey eyes staring intently his way sent a shiver of dread—or was it anticipation?—down Sam’s spine, and he had to fight himself to look away. He could have ignored it if Ed hadn’t said anything. He could have just pushed it down, and pretended it was nerves, or lack of sleep, or just good old-fashioned pent up sexual frustration—but no. His friends were dicks.  
  
“Do you want to listen to some Justin Bieber on the way? I can play _Boyfriend_.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Ed!”  
  
  
_____________  
  
  
  
It was so much more awkward once the party actually started. Sam had floored it back to the house, driving to the tune of anything poppy and romantic that Ed could find on the radio, and obnoxious questions about whether he was trying to outrun his feelings. Sam had never wanted to punch someone so much in his life, but he was pretty sure Ed’s face couldn’t take the impact. At the very least it would break the ironically thick frames and cause endless bitching. Still, it was tempting.  
  
Roy and Lora arrived first, followed by the others at nearly the same time. Tron headed right for the kitchen—where Sam had hidden himself—the moment he arrived. He made a show of looking at the decorations on the back porch, standing uncomfortably close to Sam the whole time. Sam, on the other hand, absorbed himself in dicing the already sliced carrots into something that more closely resembled puree. A hand on top of his stopped him just as he reached for a third carrot.  
  
“I think they’ve had enough,” Tron said.  
  
Sam looked from the warm hand over his, up Tron’s arm, and finally came to a stop at his face. He still had his hat on. Hadn’t anyone told him to take it off inside?  
  
“Hat,” Sam said. All he could hear was how _stupid_ his own voice sounded.  
  
“Huh? Oh.” Tron reached up and swept the hat from his head, revealing the shorter cut he’d sported since his first days in the academy. It wasn’t a buzz cut, but it wasn’t as long as it had been when he first materialized in the Encom laser lab. Sam liked it. “Here.” He reached out and planted the hat on Sam’s head, where it sat slightly lopsided.  
  
Tron reached for a carrot and popped it in his mouth before turning on his heel and slipping out the back door to join the rest of the guests. He was always so quick, packing so much intent into every movement. Sam thought of the first time that catlike precision had been trained on him, and then _that_ memory was followed by the remembered sensation of Rinzler’s weight pinning him down. He frowned and leaned against the cabinet, willing away the erection that didn’t seem to give a damn that he was standing in the middle of the kitchen. He cursed under his breath, reaching for another carrot.  
  
“Idle hands,” Ed said quietly. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table, face nearly pressed against the touch screen of his phone. “I think those carrots have had it, though. You should move on to the broccoli florets”  
  
“Ed.” Sam held up the knife he’d been inflicting on the vegetables. “I will do it, and I have the money to make sure no one finds you.”  
  
“Nice hat,” Ed replied.  
  
Sam looked up.  
  
 _Shit_.  
  
  
_____________  
  
  
  
Things were blessedly normal after that—at least for a little while. Sam made a serious effort to stomp on his rampaging hormones, and Ed backed down enough to give him some breathing room. Ernie kept looking back and forth between Sam and Tron, but no one seemed to notice. They had all gathered on the back porch after Sam ran out of hors d’oeuvres to mangle; Lora rescued the other half of the veggie plate just in time, sparing it from Sam’s nervous wrath. There was a long folding table set up in the sitting room inside, and he’d relegated the unlucky snacks to exile there, where hopefully very few people would stumble across them.  
  
“We don’t get weather like this in D.C., not in the fall,” Lora said. She looked over her shoulder at the spacious, vibrant green yard and blooming flowers that wrapped around the porch. “I miss it. Did you do all of this, Kevin?”  
  
“Some of it. I find myself with a lot of free time, especially with Sam and Alan looking after the company.”  
  
“You had a lot of free time before,” Sam said. “I didn’t see a garden when I was there.”  
  
Quorra piped in then. “He did try, once,” she said. “It didn’t go very well. Even digital flowers have trouble thriving beyond the Grid.” Her tone was apologetic, but it was waved off with a smile.  
  
“I tried a lot of things. I had enough time to do it, but I didn’t want to tamper with the system too much. Didn’t want to draw attention…” He trailed off, leaving everyone silent. Sam watched him smile sadly and swirl his drink a few times.  
  
It was Tron who spoke up to break the somber mood. “We’re out of cups,” he noted. “I’ll go get some.”  
  
“No,” Lora stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s your party, we’ll do the work. I’ll—well, I’ll look for the cups. Where are they?”  
  
Alan stood up and gestured to the sliding glass door. “I’ll show you, come on.”  
  
Sam watched them go, noting that it was the first time he had seen the two of them speak to one another all day. Alan seemed to be doing his best to avoid any situation that would force them into a one-on-one conversation. Prior to that Sam had always thought they had a pretty good relationship, all things considered. He wondered if that was why Alan had focused so much on Ed and his phone, or why he had offered to drive Tron to the park, leaving no one but Roy to pick Lora up from the airport. Setting aside his drink and his own concerns for the moment, Sam excused himself and slipped into the house, intent on finding out just what was happening with his surrogate family. He hovered around the kitchen for a moment, pretending to look for a phone he hadn’t lost, before slipping into the TV room and planting himself on the other side of the wall. He could hear them talking quickly and quietly, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying beyond a few broken bits of conversation.  
  
“…see in here, Alan. Sam is in the other room.”  
  
“It’s fine, trust me.”  
  
“Stop—Alan, stop. I can’t do this. Please. Don’t make it harder for me than it already is.”  
  
Whatever Alan said in reply, Sam missed it. The sound of the back door hissing along its track covered anything he might have said, and then Tron’s voice filled the silence that followed. Sam’s entire body reacted as though he’d touched a live wire. He wanted to kick himself for acting like such an idiot over a fleeting feeling, and risking a friendship that actually meant a lot to him. If the others said anything, if Tron ever found out—how would he react? Sam didn’t want to imagine it, and he definitely didn’t want to think about what the others would say.  
  
“Have you seen Sam?” Tron asked.  
  
“Uh, he went that way,” Alan replied. “I think he was looking for his phone.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Sam cursed himself and bolted out of the TV room, slipping into the sitting room and hoping Tron hadn’t come around the corner fast enough to catch him. He busied himself at the spare snack table, pretending he’d been there all along. A moment later Tron entered the room; Sam could hear the soft sound of his polyester pants as he made his way across the floor.  
  
“Hey,” he said. He waited, and when Sam only nodded in acknowledgement he stepped closer. “What are you doing? I don’t think you can do much for those carrots now.”  
  
“I was just trying to encourage them to keep it together. You know.” Sam poked at the pile of carrot slush and shrugged. He heard the sliding door open and close again; Lora and Alan had gone back outside, leaving Sam and Tron alone in the house. Sam started grasping at straws, trying to keep things casual. “Really lazy carrots,” he muttered. He wanted to slap himself.  
  
Sudden cheers from outside indicated that the group had started some sort of activity—probably one of the board games Quorra had insisted on buying, just in case. The rise in chatter a moment later confirmed Sam’s suspicions, and he tried to focus on that, rather than the paranoia carving out a cozy place for itself in the center of his chest. A shadow fell over the table beside him, and he chanced a glance to his side; Tron was only inches away, leaning down to examine the plate of vegetables under Sam’s hand. He had his hat on again.  
  
“Yeah, I think they gave up a while ago.”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
“Sam, is something wrong? Did I say something to upset you?”  
  
Sam shook his head and flicked his hand to the side. “Nah, you didn’t do anything. I’m just kinda out of it today. It’s me.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Another awkward lull in the conversation, and Sam was sure Tron could see right through his pathetic attempts to pretend everything was still business as usual. It was the group outside, and their swell of cheering that broke the silence first.  
  
“Everything looks really great, by the way. Thanks for setting up the party,” Tron said.  
  
“I’m glad, man, you worked hard.” That he could handle; Sam was much more comfortable with small talk when it didn’t come anywhere close to touching on his confusing and ridiculously sudden infatuation. All he had to do was keep things as impersonal as possible. “You look really great in that uniform,” he said without thinking.  
  
What.  
  
It was like a slow but inexorable collision occurred between his brain and his mouth. From the corner of his eye Sam could see Tron’s attention snap from the carrots back up to him, and he was instantly transported back to that first encounter; surrounded by warped glass walls, deafened by the roar of the crowd, and facing a predator he didn’t have even the slightest chance of beating. Tron looked over his shoulder; Sam knew he was picking out each and every voice from the sea of chatter taking place two rooms away. For all intents and purposes he was fully human, but some skills survived the jump from digital to meat space. That was only a surprise the first time Tron and Quorra had displayed their above-normal attentiveness; after that everyone had sort of learned to accept that they came equipped with bonus features. It was still creepy sometimes, though.  
  
“Sam,” Tron began. He moved forward, stepping to the side when Sam tried to sidle past him. “We should talk.” Face-to-face, it was much harder to avoid eye contact.  
  
“Yeah, I really don’t think this is the best time,” Sam said. “Maybe later.”  
  
“Maybe now.”  
  
Sam flinched as hands came down on his arms, holding him in place. He looked up at Tron, who was so close Sam could feel the tap of his belt buckle every time he took a breath. He tried to set aside the adrenaline coursing through his body, and the overwhelming fear of just how bad things could get if his new secret got out. Apparently _he_ couldn’t be trusted to keep it—the hypocrisy of threatening his friends into keeping silent was suddenly very obvious.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about this,” he said.  
  
Tron shrugged. “Good.” He leaned down and tilted his head, hovering just shy of making contact with Sam’s lips. “Neither do I.”  
  
Sam only had half a second to wonder where Tron had learned about seduction, and then he couldn’t think at all. Tron’s hands left his arms, sliding up his shoulders and coming to rest around his neck. He leaned forward, urging Sam’s lips apart with his tongue, and adding another wave of body-numbing arousal to the one already making its slowly from head to toe. Sam couldn’t manage the presence of mind to make his hands move; he fumbled at Tron’s shirt, grabbing the fabric and bunching it in his fingers as the kiss became deeper and more urgent. It was amazing. He made a sound—it was meant to be encouraging, but it got lost somewhere in translation. Tron grunted in reply and let go with one hand, reaching down to slide his palm against Sam’s cock. He made another, more pleased sound at what he found there. His hand pushed against the hard length, and Sam whimpered quietly.  
  
“I thought about waiting,” Tron said as he pulled away from the kiss. He caught Sam with another peck on the lips before continuing. “To see how long it would take you to say something.” When he leaned down again it was to plant a series of small kisses along the left side of Sam’s jaw. “Then I remembered I don’t like waiting.” He cupped Sam’s erection and squeezed gently, drawing out another soft moan. “So, you like my uniform?”  
  
“I do,” Sam answered. He was lost, completely enthralled by every touch, and totally unconcerned with all the overthinking he’d done since he realized that he wanted _exactly_ what was happening at that moment. When Tron’s hands came together to undo the button and zipper on his pants, he could only stare as though he had never seen how clothing worked. “What are you…”  
  
Tron looked him in the eye briefly before reaching in and taking hold of Sam’s cock through the opening in his boxers.  
  
“Holy shit,” Sam cursed. Tron stroked him a few times, and his other hand came around to caress Sam’s back. Sam leaned back and put his hands flat on the table behind him, watching the rise and fall of the hand between his legs, and listening to each deep breath from Tron and his own rapid, shallow panting.  
  
“Left pocket,” Tron said. He angled his left hip forward accordingly.  
  
Sam stared at him for a moment before the words made sense. He reached into the offered pocket and wrapped his fingers around what felt like a small plastic container. Distantly he _knew_ what it was, but the feeling of Tron’s hand tight around his cock and the adrenaline coursing through his body blew all rational thought to pieces. He pulled out the container and stared at it for a moment.  
  
“Vaseline…?” When the hell had he gotten that? “Do you just carry this around?”  
  
“Found it in the bathroom cabinet. Pull your pants down.”  
  
Sam fumbled with the obvious implication. “Wait—what?” They weren’t going to have sex. Not in his dad’s house, and definitely not on a _snack table_. “We can’t—”  
  
Tron pulled his hand out of Sam’s pants and grabbed him for another deep kiss. He arched himself forward just enough to press his own extremely hard cock against Sam’s leg. “We can,” he said as they broke apart again. “I don’t want to wait.”  
  
“No one wants to wait, Tron, but we’re in the middle of a party!” Some level of rational thought had made its way back through the haze, and Sam was suddenly very aware that his father and everyone else whose opinions mattered most in his life sat twenty feet away, at best. “And this is a table for food!” he added as an afterthought.  
  
“No one is going to touch this food, you made sure of that. Sam, I need you. I need to be in you.”  
  
“Oh, wow.” Sam was pretty sure he could have died at that moment and it wouldn’t matter. “Okay, _shit_ this is stupid—yes, let’s do this.” He pushed on his pants and boxers until they were around his thighs. Just as he started to turn Tron stopped him.  
  
“Get on the table.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“Yes,” Tron said in a warning tone, “I am _very_ serious.” He started to unbuckle his belt, tugging at the top of his uniform and un-tucking it at the same time. A second shirt was underneath, but he abandoned his attempts to multitask before it could be pulled out with the other one. Once he had his erection in hand he reached for the bottle Sam had been clutching. “Have you ever done this?” he asked.  
  
“Uh, no. Have you?”  
  
“No.” Tron shrugged. “We’ll be alright.”  
  
That was highly reassuring. Sam lifted himself onto the table and watched as Tron lubed himself up—not something he ever thought he’d see, but now that he was, it easily topped his list of both the sexiest and most fascinating sights he’d ever witnessed. Tron was meticulous and, contrary to his prior urgency, took his time. He slicked his fingers over the entire shaft, and Sam hungrily followed every part of the process. He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the reality that what he was looking at was about to be _inside_ him. Just thinking about it made his own cock twitch eagerly.  
  
“We need to hurry,” he said. “The others are just outside.”  
  
Tron shook his head. “They’re playing a game. Quorra insisted.”  
  
“What game?” Sam asked. He didn’t care, but the question had somehow come up anyway.  
  
“Trivial Pursuit. They’ll be at it for a while.”  
  
“Yeah, they will. Are you going to use some of that on me?”  
  
Tron looked up. “I should, shouldn’t I? Spread your legs.”  
  
“You’re so romantic about this,” Sam mocked. He jumped back down from the table and kicked off his pants and boxers, toeing off his shoes and socks after that. Once he was back on the table he spread his legs and leaned back, holding his breath and waiting for the next step. It wasn’t what he expected; Tron’s fingers were warm—almost hot. He rubbed a small circle around the outside of Sam’s ass, and then pushed forward so slowly it was almost impossible to tell he was moving at all. “It’s just a finger, you can go faster,” Sam urged.  
  
“Stop rushing me.”  
  
“Excuse me for wanting to do this a little sooner than next year.” Sam leaned back more, wrapping his fingers around the back edge of the table. “God _damn_ it, just fuck me already!” It came out louder than he’d intended, and for a moment they both froze, listening for anything that would indicate they’d been heard. Someone outside yelled, and then the excited chatter continued.  
  
Tron smirked and pulled his finger from Sam’s ass. “This is exciting.”  
  
“Users have been a bad influence on you.”  
  
That was an understatement. Tron pushed one hand up along Sam’s chest, lifting his white dress shirt. “Take it off,” he said.  
  
“Come on, really?”  
  
The lack of a response was answer enough; Sam rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning his shirt, aware that Tron was watching him in much the same way he’d watched just a few minutes earlier. Before he had a chance to shrug out of the sleeves Tron stopped him, placing one hand on his shoulder as he took hold of his own cock with the other. He angled himself forward, pressing the head of his cock against Sam’s slick entrance; Sam could see him shivering slightly with each breath.  
  
“Don’t stop,” Sam whispered hoarsely. He opened his legs more, leaning back until he was almost flat on the table. He wanted it so much more than he had known before that moment. When Tron pushed into him it was like something deep inside came unraveled. Sam clenched his teeth and groaned, trying to will himself to relax against the pain; it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, but _damn_ it still hurt like a son of a bitch.  
  
Tron must have realized that as well, because he stopped barely halfway in. “Sam?”  
  
“God, keep going!” Sam pleaded. He tried to wrap his legs around Tron’s waist, but his feet kept slipping. “Shit, how the hell do women do this?”  
  
“You feel so amazing, Sam.” Tron leaned down and put his palms flat on the table, ratcheting his hips forward a bit more and groaning as he slid deeper inside. “It’s so tight, I didn’t know it would be so _tight_.”  
  
Sam nodded frantically and choked out a desperate sound. He didn’t even care how pathetic it was. “More, please, just keep moving!”  
  
The feeling of being penetrated, having Tron fill him and stretch him open—Sam could barely contain himself. He wanted to scream, but not from pain. That had mostly given way to the dull throb of his arousal and the incredible sensation of fullness. It was how slow Tron was moving that made him want to explode. He wanted more; speed, power; to be _fucked._ He wanted Tron pounding against him until he couldn’t feel anything else.  
  
Sam started begging, he couldn’t even be sure what he was saying. The words just tumbled out of him.  
  
“Oh, Sam,” Tron groaned. He started jerking his hips forward, jacking himself into Sam faster and faster. One hand gripped Sam’s hip, while the other stayed flat on the table as leverage. “Your body is amazing. It’s so hot.” The faster he moved, the less he said. Sam could hear him grunt quietly with each thrust, and that too grew as he picked up speed. Sam pushed himself up on his hands and watched as Tron fucked him; the sight of it nearly pushed him right over the edge, but it was one deep stroke, one single thrust that made him cry out.  
  
“Do that again,” he gasped. Tron angled himself and pushed in harder, and Sam felt his thighs quiver. “ _Fuck!_ ” It was unbelievable. He shut his eyes tight as Tron’s pace reached a speed that made the table rattle beneath them. They’d already lost one plate. He didn’t really care what it was. He shifted his weight to one hand and started stroking himself with the other, sliding his fist up and down on his cock while Tron fucked him. Both hands were on his hips now; Tron had given up on leverage and seemed intent on just shoving his cock as far as it would go with each thrust. Sam could see him sweating with the effort; it had already soaked the collar of his uniform.  
  
“Touching yourself because I’m inside you, Sam?” Tron asked breathlessly. “Is it that good?”  
  
Sam nodded and pumped his fist harder. “I’m gonna come,” he said. “Soon. Please, _please_.”  
  
“Let me watch you,” Tron said. He gripped Sam’s hips tighter and slammed into him.  
  
That was all it took; Sam lost all control as he came, squeezing his legs tight around Tron and grunting with each wave of his orgasm. He could feel it on his skin, warm and wet, and rapidly cooling even as Tron continued moving inside him. For a moment they were both silent, and then Tron caught his breath and held it as he went absolutely still. He growled low in his throat and thrust into Sam quickly, and Sam watched with rapt attention. He wanted to memorize everything about it.  
  
When it was over Tron let out a long, heavy breath and wiped a hand across his face to clear some of the sweat. “Here,” he said, reaching for the pile of napkins on the table. “You’re probably going to need some of these.”  
  
“Yeah.” Sam winced as Tron pulled out; the pain was back, though had returned as a dull throb, rather than a sharp sting. “Thanks.”  
  
“For the napkins, or the sex?”  
  
“Both?” Sam laughed. “And for leaving me unable to walk.”  
  
Tron tucked himself into his pants and went to work putting his uniform back together. “I think I should be thanking you,” he said. “Next time will be in a bed, I promise.”  
  
“Next time?”  
  
Sam made a tiny, surprised sound as Tron grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss. It was slower, less urgent than before. His tongue wound lazily around Sam’s, and when he pulled away he bit down gently on Sam’s lower lip. “I was thinking tonight, back at your apartment.”  
  
“Gimme some time to recover,” Sam complained. “I feel like I just got split open.” Tron grinned at that, and Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t—do not take that as a compliment. You’re already way too pleased with yourself.”  
  
“Get dressed, we should probably go back outside before they come looking for us.”  
  
“Oh, that wasn’t a problem when you were anxious to get some, but now it’s a major concern?” Sam turned around and bent over—slowly—to pick up his pants. He nearly yelped as Tron swept a hand between his legs, over his ass, and then around his hip.  
  
“I had other priorities,” Tron replied. “I’ll go out first. Do I look normal?”  
  
“You mean,” Sam said, “do you look like you just fucked me on a folding table? No, you don’t. You look like you just ran a mile, though. Go wash your face with some cold water. Oh,” he paused, “your collar is sweaty.” He squinted at the darker blue stain and shrugged. “It should be fine.”  
  
Tron frowned. He reached out and grabbed Sam for another quick kiss before striding from the room and turning in the direction of the bathroom. Sam stood for a moment, completely naked, still not entirely sure what had happened, or if it had happened. Then he hastily dressed himself and took a few deep breaths, shaking his arms and trying to stretch his back without angering his already pained ass. It couldn’t be too difficult to pretend nothing had happened once he was back outside with everyone else. He just had to avoid making eye contact with Tron, or looking at him, or hearing his voice. At least until the party was over, and possibly for days or weeks after that. Or maybe just forever.  
  
“What the hell did I just _do?_ ” he muttered, looking around for his right shoe. It had been kicked across the room at some point, and sat partially obscured by an easy chair. “This is so fucking insane.” He considered taking a shower, but then dismissed it almost immediately; that would definitely raise way more suspicion than heading back outside smelling like sweat and walking funny.  
  
Tron ducked his head back into the room. “Going back outside,” he said.  
  
“I’ll be out in a minute.”  
  
Sam took one more deep breath and started toward the next room, then turned and looked at the table. He couldn’t leave the food there. He started clearing the plates, looking over the side of the table to see which dish had fallen during their wild session of complete and total disregard for food safety. It was a plate of crackers—Quorra wouldn’t be happy about that. He stacked the rest of the dishes and brought them to the kitchen, depositing them in the sink before taking a look at his reflection in a small glass frame hanging on the wall. Everything _seemed_ to be in place, but he still felt like he had _I JUST HAD SEX_ tattooed across his forehead.  
  
Everyone was still engrossed in their game of Trivial Pursuit when he rejoined the party. Only Quorra looked up as he stepped through the sliding glass door. She smiled and pointed to her yellow plastic pie wheel, obviously pleased with the four wedges she had accumulated. Sam scanned the board and took notice of a brown wheel that was one wedge short of full—it was missing the Sports  & Leisure piece, and sitting on the space to win it. “Who’s winning?” he asked.  
  
“I am,” Ed replied. He was sitting in the back with his legs propped up on another chair. His phone was on the table next to him, and he was tapping it with one hand as he idly shuffled a small stack of cards with the other.  
  
“What are you doing, looking up answers on your phone?”  
  
“No, he’s not,” Alan answered for him. “I checked. Several times.” His frown told Sam that the phone and Ed’s progress had probably been the subject of at least one of the outbursts he heard from the TV room.  
  
“So, did you get lucky?” Ed asked. He flashed Sam a cruel smile before turning back to whatever he’d been doing before. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, but it was Lora who unknowingly saved the day.  
  
“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Did you find your phone?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly, not trusting himself to answer. He was silently waging a war between the paranoia that threatened to send him dashing back inside, to his old room, and the body-tingling thrill of knowing he’d just had sex twenty feet from these people, and they had _no idea_. He looked over at Tron, and caught the very edge of the same manic expression. They’d gotten away with it.  
  
“Alright,” Ed said suddenly, throwing his cards down on the table. “It’s been great, but Ernie and I have to get going. I guess you win by default, Quorra.”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“Savor the victory. And congratulations again, Tron.”  
  
Ernie stood up from where he’d been poring over the cards, trying to find a sports question that would present enough difficulty to stump Ed and keep him from his inevitable victory. He shook a few hands and added his congratulations as well, before following Ed through the house and out the front door. He and Sam exchanged a brief but friendly nod on the way.  
  
“Wait a minute, you don’t win just because Dillinger is leaving,” Alan said. “I’m only two wedges behind you…”  
  
Tron stepped up next to Sam and tapped his hip with the back of his hand. “Staying here tonight?” he asked quietly. No one else seemed to be paying attention; they had all turned to the brewing showdown between Alan and Quorra. She already had the rules pamphlet in hand.  
  
“Can’t,” Sam replied. “You’re in my old room.”  
  
“The bed fits two. Technically.”  
  
Sam allowed himself a generous smile at that not-so-subtle suggestion. “And Dad?”  
  
“I don’t think he would mind. But,” Tron paused, “I also heard that he and Quorra are going out after everyone leaves. They won’t be back until late tonight.”  
  
Something about the way they were discussing screwing in his childhood bedroom made Sam feel like he was fifteen again. “I don’t have any clothes to sleep in.”  
  
Tron nudged him with his shoulder. “Not a problem.”  
  
Sam turned and gave him a curious look, noting the tilt of the hat he refused to take off and the unbuttoned top button on his uniform. He had to have arranged that on purpose; no one was so accidentally sexy just when they needed to be. “You have an answer for everything?” he asked.  
  
“Everything that matters.”  
  
  
_____________  
  
  
  
 **Epilogue**  
 _Six Months Later_

  
“You should probably limit yourself to one ticket a month. I can’t reasonably clear more than that.” Tron was changing out of his uniform as he spoke, with an eye on Sam’s reflection in the mirror; he intentionally took his time with the buttons of his shirt, enjoying the way Sam watched his fingers work their way down the line.  
  
“Hey, I didn’t ask you to handle my petty crimes,” Sam replied with a shrug. “If you don’t want me getting tickets, why don’t you just stake out along my commute, pull me over yourself?”  
  
Tron looked over his shoulder as he toed off his shoes. “I think we both remember how that turned out the first time.”  
  
“I sure as hell do, why do you think I suggested it?” Sam jumped down from the dresser and made his way over to where Tron was undressing next to the bed. “There’s gotta be _some_ benefit to putting up with you.” He wrapped his arms around Tron’s waist and leaned against him, slipping his hands into his front pockets. “Are you taking a shower?”  
  
They had finally moved out of the garage by the docks the month before; Tron complained that he was sick of the smell of the water, and Sam was admittedly tired of feeling damp all the time. They settled downtown, closer to Encom, and near enough to the precinct Tron reported to when he wasn’t out on his route. They weren’t officially living together—at least no more than they had been before the move—but they spent every night in the same bed, and Sam felt that pretty much qualified. He never asked Tron to stay, and they never discussed that the vast majority of his personal effects were there, rather than back at the Flynn household, but that was fine; Sam liked that it wasn’t something they had to talk about.  
  
Quorra had been the first to figure out what was going on between them, apart from Ed, and being frighteningly clever as she was that didn’t surprise either of them. She assured Sam that she hadn’t told anyone, but several obvious cues from his father indicated he’d put two and two together as well. Apparently Tron was right, and the old man really did just want everyone to be happy. Of course, no one had told Alan, and Sam still couldn’t think of a way to broach that topic without opening a seriously awkward line of questioning that would lead back to where it all started, and _when._ There was no way Alan would react to the news without that same stern frown he had permanently aimed in Sam’s direction since he was ten years old, or at the very least a lecture about not taking advantage of the programs. Never mind that Tron was the one who had seduced and corrupted _him_.  
  
Tron pulled Sam’s hands out of his pockets and set them further up on his waist. “I wasn’t planning on it. Want to let me finish undressing?”  
  
“I guess. Hurry up.” Sam was already naked down to his boxers, and he was contemplating losing those, as well. He hopped sideways and threw himself onto the bed, stretching out and propping his head up on one hand as he watched the rest of the private strip show. “Leave the belt on,” he said mock-seductively.  
  
Tron turned and gave him an exasperated look. “With the gun, really?”  
  
“Yeah, I didn’t really think that through.” Sam was interrupted by a high-pitched beep from his phone. He leaned back and plucked it from the bedside table, peering at the screen.  
  
“Who’s texting you this late?”  
  
“Alan. He says Lora’s moving truck got there this afternoon, and he’s on his way to pick her up from the airport now.” He tapped out a quick reply and turned off the phone. Alan had quickly picked up on texting after Ed bought him a smart phone for his birthday, and Sam was a frequent late-night victim of every stray thought that crossed his mind. “He’ll call you if there are any problems.”  
  
Tron was down to his undershirt and briefs by the time Sam looked up again. He unclasped his wristwatch and set it down on the nightstand. Sam could see he was already anticipating getting a little more than cozy in the bed. “Nice,” he said appreciatively, nodding to Tron’s erection.  
  
Tron smirked. “ _Mm_. Come here.”  
  
Sam sat up and knelt at the edge of the bed; he was more than ready for some physical activity. Tron reached out and grabbed him for a kiss, letting his hands roam liberally over Sam’s back and sides, fingers gliding over every muscle and curve. He traced the line of Sam’s lip with his tongue, and Sam responded with a gentle nip. Tron moved himself onto the bed, forcing Sam onto his back, propped up on his elbows.  
  
“Pushy,” Sam said. “Gonna handcuff me again if I don’t behave?” Part of him was hoping for just that. He had developed a weird sort of kink for all the neat little pieces that came with Tron’s uniform. It was probably unhealthy in some way, but he didn’t care.  
  
“Cuffs are in the kitchen, and I’m not leaving this bed right now,” Tron replied. He ignored the disappointed sound from Sam, and instead leaned down to hook his fingers under the waistband of Sam’s boxers, giving them a tug over his hips. He kissed along the plane of Sam’s abdomen and across the top of his thigh as he slowly pulled the shorts down and off. After tossing them to the side he shifted himself onto the bed and pushed Sam’s thighs apart. He kneaded the muscles of his thighs as he leaned down and gave Sam a teasing lick.  
  
Sam lifted his head to watch, only to drop back against the bed when he felt Tron’s lips wrap tight around the head of his cock. He bucked a few times, trying not to thrust outright, but it was next to impossible to keep himself still. “More,” he urged, grabbing at the sheets and twisting them between his hands. Tron slid lower, taking in more as Sam had asked, flicking his tongue over every sensitive inch along the way. Sam gasped and cursed through clenched teeth. He could feel Tron’s mouth tight and hot around him, and then the slick drag of his lips as he pulled back up again.  
  
“Stop—stop, Tron,” Sam managed to plead. “I want you to fuck me like this.” Tron sat up and started to position himself between Sam’s legs, but a hand on his leg stopped him. Sam shook his head and nodded to the head of the bed. “On your back,” he said.  
  
Tron nodded and set himself where Sam had indicated, never breaking eye contact as Sam crawled over him and straddled his hips. Sam reached between his legs and took hold of Tron’s cock, lowering himself slowly and groaning as it filled him. He loved the sensation, the heat and pressure of it inside him and the warmth of Tron between his thighs. He shifted himself forward experimentally and earned a low, needy sound from Tron. “I want—” Sam started, lifting himself up and dropping back down. “I want you to watch me.” He leaned forward to gain better leverage and started to pushed back harder, rocking both of their bodies and sending the bed frame knocking against the wall.  
  
Tron braced a palm flat on the headboard and pulled Sam down for a kiss with his other hand. “ _Faster_ ,” he groaned against Sam’s mouth.  
  
Sam reached out and gripped the top of the headboard with both hands, using it to push harder against Tron. He rocked forward, whimpering as Tron’s cock rubbed against his prostate, feeling himself wind tighter and tighter with each thrust. Tron’s hands came up around his waist and pulled him down even as he lifted his own hips, and Sam let out a long moan; he let his head drop between his shoulders and gave up trying to keep control. “ _Fuck me_ ,” he pleaded, whimpering as Tron drove up hard and sent a shock of pleasure rippling through his entire body. His focus narrowed to where their bodies met, and the sound of heavy breathing and their bodies moving together on the bed.  
  
“Sam…” Tron’s hands were wrapped tight around Sam’s hips, holding him through the last hard thrusts, and then his whole body went taut as he came. His jaw clenched tight, and Sam watched, mesmerized by every twitch and ripple of muscle. When Tron went slack he leaned down and pressed his lips to the side of his neck, tasting the salt there.  
  
A few minutes and several lazy kisses later, Tron pulled out and rolled them both over until Sam was pinned beneath him. “Your turn,” he announced with a grin. He reached down and took hold of Sam’s erection, watching intently while he pumped his hand in long, slow strokes. Sam shut his eyes and arched into the touch, bucking his hips and silently urging Tron to move faster. The weight of his body; his smell, like the leather of his jacket; his warmth, and the moist heat of his breath against Sam’s skin; there was nothing left in Sam to express how much he needed it, and how much it meant to him—at least not the way he wanted to. Instead he wrapped his arms around Tron’s shoulders and held him tight, hoping that sent the message he wanted. Tron lifted his head and leaned in to whisper something in Sam’s ear that made his whole body grow hot. It only took a few more firm strokes to push him over the edge. He came hard, spilling over his own stomach and Tron’s, still rolling his hips up into Tron’s hand until the sensation became too much to stand. He finally released his death grip on Tron after the last wave of his orgasm passed.  
  
“Good?” Tron asked. He flopped down on his stomach beside Sam and folded his arms under his chin. He showed no sign of being tired, or worn out in any way.  
  
Sam couldn’t reply yet. He nodded, and gave Tron a shaky smile. “Always good,” he said finally. He opened his mouth to address what Tron had whispered, but nothing came to mind that wouldn’t sound foolish. Instead he let himself relax and return to a normal state; watching Tron as he got up and made a round trip to and from the bathroom with a glass of water to share. When he rejoined Sam in the bed they spent time quietly lying together, with Tron gently stroking his side and inching himself closer and closer, until there was no space left between them. Eventually Sam couldn’t fight sleep any longer. He closed his eyes, only opening them briefly when Tron reached over to turn out the light.

**Author's Note:**

> A companion fic to this one, detailing just what happened the night Tron first pulled Sam over, can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/494342).


End file.
